Sheri Tepper - Shapeshifter 01

by King's Blood Four(Lit)

  Thus far we have been fortunate, the Bright Demesne has been fortunate. We have not been challenged in a

  Great Game. We have made common fortune with some few Immutables and spoken with them from time to time on neutral ground. Much do they suspect us, however. We hold a tenuous peace. It cannot last forever, and it may be that Peter's abduction is the falling pebble which starts the avalanche.

  "Windlow Sees, and he tells me to have good heart. I trust him with my life and love him with my soul, as though we were thalani. But I am not courageous always, " confessed Himaggery. "I have not that Talent. "

  "Lord, " asked Silkhands, "what Talent do you have?

  What is the Talent of Wizards?"

  He laughed at her and rumpled her hair but did not answer. "If I have any, it is to link Gamesmen together to pursue this word, this justice. If I have any at all, it is that. "

  9

  Shapeshifter

  The assembled Talents of the Bright Demesne went at it again at dusk, and again on the morning following.

  By noon of the second day they had tracked me to

  Bannerwell, and one Seer at least told them I was alive within its walls. It took them a day or two to send a

  Pursuivant to a place nearby, for though Pursuivants have the power of transporting themselves, as Elators do, it is not as potent a Talent. They have the power of Reading, as Demons do, as well, but again it is not as intense.

  Thus, my friends were not really surprised when the

  Pursuivant returned to say he could pick up thoughts which he believed were mine, but he could not be sure.

  He had, however, picked up a clear reference to Mertyn from several sources in and around Bannerwell, and this was enough to make some in the assembly turn their attention toward Mertyn's House in Schooltown.

  From that moment it was not long until they discovered my parentage-or should it be motherage.

  Strange, I had not thought of that before. I knew that

  Talents were inherited, that they might be traced both from the female and male parent, but even when I had heard that I was Mavin's son, I had had no. curiosity, about my father. It was, even when I thought of it, only a passing thought, and that was much later. As soon as

  Himaggery was told of it, he sent an Elator to Mertyn, begging him to travel to the Bright Demesne. He broke the rules in doing so. Elators do hot, by the rules, carry messages from one Demesne to another. That is left to

  Heralds or, on occasion, Ambassadors. Though none of us knew it, it was fortunate Himaggery held the rules so in contempt. Mandor's own Heralds were even then on the road to Schooltown.

  They arrived to find Mertyn gone. He had taken a swift ship from Schooltown to sail across the Gathered

  Waters and down, the Middle River to Lake Yost. He had not left word with any in Mertyn's House where he had gone. Himaggery's Elator, who had set Mertyn on the road, offered no help to Mandor's Heralds, who had no choice but to take lodging in Schooltown and await

  Mertyn's return. Eventually they gave up and returned to Bannerwell to face Mandor's wrath. The day they returned was a day I do not wish to remember.

  Meantime, each day Himaggery would seek out

  Windlow, who sat in his pleasant rooms over the garden reading my book, to ask him what should be done next.

  The old man would close his wrinkly eyes and lean back against the side of the window, the sun falling sweetly on his face in quiet warmth, the mists drifting up and away as they always did, and invoke a long silence during which he searched for Seeings. Then at last he would open his eyes and say what he could.

  On one day it was, "Peter is not in immediate danger,

  Himaggery. However, he is desperate, and very lonely, and without hope. " ,

  Silkhands was in the room. She said at once, "We must go to him. Now. While the rest of you figure out what it is you will do... " Himaggery began to object, but was interrupted by the old man.

  "No. Don't forbid her, Himaggery. That may be a very good idea. Healers are generally respected, almost always safe. If she goes with Yarrel and Chance-a

  Healer riding with two servants? Can you pretend to be servants?" He asked it of Yarrel, knowing Yarrel's pride.

  "I can't pretend, " said Yarrel. "I can be. " And he bowed before Silkhands as though he were her groom.

  "If Silkhands will learn her part. "

  "Oh, I will do, " she pledged.

  So, the three of them set out for Bannerwell, not over the high passes of the Hidamans, as I had come there, but up the western side of Middle River and then along the foothills west in the valley of the Banner itself, before they left, Himaggery took Yarrel aside and told him of other Seeings which Windlow had had recently.

  "There is to be a Grand Demesne, lad. A great

  Game. Silkhands must not know of it, for they will Read her in Bannerwell. They will not bother you or Chance.

  Pawns are not considered in such matters. But you must know, in order to plan... "

  While those three left the Bright Demesne,

  Himaggery plotted and plotted again, and Mertyn sailed toward him, and Mandor raged, and I sat in the rocky cell and dreamed myself elsewhere or hoped I could die.

  All of us were thinking of me. No one was thinking of

  Dazzle.

  She, however, returned from her errand to learn that

  Silkhands had come and gone, which threw Dazzle into a compelling fury. She was full of wrath, full of vengeance against all those she fancied had wronged her, with

  Borold offering a willing ear to all her fancies. Thus, in a quiet dark hour, Dazzle and Borold rode out on

  Silkhands' trail. Perhaps they had murder in mind.

  Perhaps she feared what Himaggery would do if Silkhands were hurt directly and so plotted some more indirect revenge. No one knows now what she thought then, save only that she meant Silkhands no good.

  Time passed. I knew none of this. I knew nothing save my own continuing sorrow and despair.

  Then, one time I was sitting on the cot in the cell where they chained me, the room dim and shadowed from the torch which burned smokily in the corridor outside the grilled door; the guard who stood there half nodding, catching himself, then nodding again; the place silent as the moon, when there was a flicker of movement at the edge of my eye. There was only stone there, nothing could have moved, so I turned my head, surprised, to see an Elator framed for an instant against the rock. He gave me one sharp look and was gone. I thought I had imagined it, had imagined the slim form in its tight wash-leather garb, close-hooded, appearing almost naked in silhouette. But, could I have imagined that furtive, hasty glare? The matter was resolved at once, for the guardsman shouted and ran away down the hall. He had seen it, too.

  They came then, Huld and Mandor, Huld to trample through my mind with heavy feet, scuffing and scraping, trying to find what was not there once more, Mandor to rail and spit and rage, his horrible face made more hideous still in wrath. I choked and was silent and let them do it. What else could I do? Each time it happened, I was amazed anew that the guards did not see Mandor as

  I did. I knew from their conversation that none in

  Bannerwell saw him as I did except Huld. To them all he was still the shining Prince,. the elegant Lord. I had one guard tell me that he envied me, me, for it was said abroad that the Prince had loved me.

  "He does not know, " Huld told Mandor for perhaps the thousandth time. "There may have been an Elator, but Peter does not know him or whence he came or for what reason. "

  There was an inarticulate shout from Mandor which

  Huld seemed to understand perfectly. "No, Mandor, I cannot be mistaken. If someone searches for the boy, then he does so-or she does so without the boy's knowledge. How should he-know? How long have you kept him like this? Who would have informed him of anything? Surely you do riot think he has become a

  Seer. Let our preparations for Great Game go forward!

  I doubt not we will be cha
llenged, and soon, but let the boy alone!"

  There was another slather of spitting words.

  Mandor's attempts at speech sounded to me like fighting tree cats, all yowls and hissing. Huld replied again,

  "It is possible that Mertyn searches for him, possible that Mavin searches for him, possible even that the High

  King searches for him, if we are to believe that Witch we brought with us from the High Demesne. All that is possible. But it is certain, your Seers tell us, that someone has started a Great Game and Bannerwell is being moved upon. What then? Direct me. I am your thalan and your servant. "

  "Get Divulger, " said Mandor. Once in a great while his words were very clear, and this was one of those times. "Get Divulger. "

  Huld shouted. "He cannot tell you if he does not know, not even under torture. "

  "He can shif, " said Mandor, stalking away down the echoing corridor. "Shif or die. "

  Huld said nothing, swallowed. Bared his teeth as though in a snarl, but it was not at me. At length, he said, "This is not honorable, Peter. I would not command it were I not commanded to do so. He orders you put to torture in the vain hope that pain will force

  Talent to come forth, if there is any to come forth. Some say that Talents emerge when needed to save us. I do not know if that is true. I beg your pardon... "

  And he left me. Vain wish, I thought, oh Huld who has no honor. Vain wish if you will do as you are bid no matter what you are bid. My mind was afire, thinking up and discarding a hundred schemes. What might I do?

  What might I say? I did not want to meet torture, knowing as I did what it meant. I had seen much from my rocky cell, more than needful, for the torture dungeons lay below and men had been dragged to and fro before my eyes. I thought of Mertyn, of Himaggery, wondered if they would send help, knew it would come too late. I thought of Chance and Yarrel, wished they could comfort me. I thought of old Windlow, Windlow and his birds and his herbs... and remembered. Windlow's herbs. I had still in my pocket leaves of that herb he had given us in the canyons, that herb which had let us leave our bodies to become as grass.

  I tugged out the scrap of cloth, heard men coming, fumbled tl|e leaves put and into my mouth, returning a few to my pocket. If I could keep my head and there were a few moments of peace, perhaps I could separate myself from my body enough not to feel pain. Footsteps approached. The Divulger peered in through the grill,, a hairy man, arms bare to the shoulder, black hood across his eyes, leather-shirted with high boots.

  "Come out, " he said, and I came, following him like a lamb, like a lamb. We passed the guard. We were alone.

  He at my side, face set in contempt. He of the hard body, heavy body, muscular arms, hairy neck, slope of shoulder, flat skull, small eyes peering through the half hood, heavy, the feet slap, slap, slap, the feel of the soles as they hit the stone, the curve of a toenail biting into the flesh with a sullen pain, the broken skin on the knuckle of the right hand, memory of the taste of morning grain furring the square, yellow teeth, running my tongue across them to feel the broken one where a victim had lashed out with a stone in his hand, not like this boy, only a baby, wouldn't last a minute on the rack, would come to pieces like a stewed fowl... and turned to look at the victim to see himself as in a mirror, himself looming hugely in the corridor, to feel the torch crash down across his brow, the metal band crushing out thought, life. Then there was only one of us in the corridor alive, and one of us dead, and both of us the same, the same.

  It was not until I saw my hand holding the snatched up torch that I realized something had happened; not until

  I turned to see my face reflected in the metal plate over a cell peek-hole that I knew what had happened. It was true., I had a Talent. I had inherited from Mavin

  Manyshaped who was said to take human form other than her own. Oh, yes. Indeed. As I had done.

  And not only the form. For there, open to me as though in a book, were all the memories of that morning, the man's own name, faces of those he. knew, bits and pieces of the fortress laid out as though on a map. I tried to remember something further back, his childhood, his parents, but there was nothing there. No.

  Only a few, loose thoughts, a sufficient baggage to carry about for a few hours, names, places, faces, and one's own job. I had been thinking of that with anticipation, I the Divulger. I, Peter, was only frightened by it. What now? We two still occupied the corridor, one alive, one dead.

  Well, I would be safe so long as they thought me the

  Divulger, one Grimpt by name. Thus, they must not find the other one, the original Grimpt. I caught the body beneath the arms and tugged it along the corridor.

  The memories which I had taken over with the body were enough to guide me. The torture dungeon lay this way, and in it were pits, oubliettes, places where bodies might be hidden for a time or lost forever. Before I disposed of him, however, I took inventory of my own form because something was not... ah, my clothing. I had taken the Grimpt form well enough, but not the form of the clothing. My own rags still hung on me, the trousers ripped at the seams by a sudden excess of flesh.

  I peeled them off and stripped him to put his clothes on me over my shirt. Never mind the stains of blood. There were others, older, dried to crusts of brown. That, seemingly, was part of the costume. I remember the herb which Windlow had given me. There was a little of it left, not much. Perhaps enough to make another shift,

  I thought, and then it might not be needed after that.

  Come to, I encouraged myself. There will be time enough to think of such things later. Now it is time to assure safety. So, dead Grimpt went down the oubliette.

  Live Grimpt went back up the corridor to a place where he might call to the Guardsman outside Peter's cell door.

  "Hey. You there, what's yer name, Bossle is it? Well, run on up the kitchen and bring us a mug. I'll put what's left of this'un back to bed. G'won now, it's thirsty work enough. " The man was only a common guardsman in a rust-splotched hauberk with little more Talent than a pawn, a Flugleman perhaps. He opened his mouth to argue, decided against it, leaned his weapon against the wall and went clattering up the stairs. I moved to the open cell, went in, curled the thin mattress beneath the blanket as though someone lay there, put Peter's shoes beside the cot and his trousers under the blanket, showing a little at the edge, came out of the place and locked it. I met the guardsman at the foot of the stairs, gave him the key, told him a filthy story which I found in Grimpt's mind ready to be recounted, drank the beer, slapped him heavily upon his back and went up the stairs whistling tunelessly.

  Huld was waiting for me at the top of the stairs.

  Grimpt's mind said "bow, " so I bowed.,

  "Well?" he asked.

  I shrugged. -'He didn't say nothing... except what they all say, " I sniggered. Huld made an. expression of distaste which I feigned not to notice. "I put 'im away. Y'wah it done again today?" The question was automatic, requiring no thought.

  "No. *' He shuddered. "No. " He turned and left me, the expression of distaste more pronounced as though he smelled something. I, too, smelled something, and realized that it was the smell of a Divulger's clothing-old blood, and smoke, and sweat. Grimpt had a place, a place with a door on it, a filthy place. I went there. Once inside with the door locked behind me, I spent some time in thought.

  When they discovered that Peter was gone, they would question the guard. He would know nothing, but he would turn attention to Grimpt. Then they would question Grimpt. My surface thoughts were Grimpt's, well enough, but they held recent memories which would not stand up to examination. No. I could not remain Grimpt. It would be necessary to become something else, take some other form-something unimportant, beneath notice. I left the filthy little cubby and wandered out toward the courtyard, full of the tumult of men hauling the sections of the Great Game ovens onto the paving stones, the screech and clangor of hammers and wheels, the rumbling rush of wagons crossing the bridge bringing wood for the ovens. The bridge was down, the gate
up to allow the wagons to move in and out, but each crew was guarded and there were more guards at the bridge. It would not be easy to leave the fortress, so much was clear. A Divulger would have no reason to go into the forest; any attempt to do so would cause suspicion.

  The lounging guardsmen were all alert, scanning the high dike to the east through which the Banner flowed. They had been told to expect challenge or attack and were keyed up by recent admonitions from their leaders. One man was much preoccupied with the pain of a sore foot. From inside an iron gate came a gardener's thoughts, mixed irritation and anger that the help he had been promised had not come, It was a natural thing, so natural that long moments passed before I realized what was happening. Grimpt was able to Read.

  I tried to find something more in the minds of the guardsmen or the gardener, but could not. Seemingly, the Talent was a small one, able to pick up only surface thoughts. Quite enough for a torturer, I thought. The thoughts of his victims were probably very much surface thoughts. What else could a Divulger do? The question brought its own answer as a gate swung toward my hand. Yes, of course. The Divulger would be able to